Marauders Fractum
by April Snakehole
Summary: November 1st. The Marauders react.
1. Padfoot

Disclaimer: I own nothing that you recognize. 

* * *

**_Padfoot_**

All-encompassing rage fueled Sirius forward when his body begged him to sit down and weep. Images of James, eyes open and lifeless, of Lily, crumpled in front of her son's crib—they flashed through his mind on a constant loop and Sirius felt that his soul had been clawed out through his chest and throat, but he had to move forward because if he stopped he would never stand up again.

Peter.

Blood all over his grubby little fingers so that he could live another pathetic hour. How the sod didn't think he would be killed for this betrayal, Sirius had no clue.

And it had been at his suggestion.

_No one will suspect Peter. It will be safer. _

_Safer for me_, he thought in disgust. And then, _No. For them. _ It should have been safer for them. Peter—_Peter—_should have been stronger, should have been more brave, loyal. The Marauders were supposed to be those things for each other.  
Hagrid wouldn't let him take Harry. "Dumbledore's orders," he had said and who was Sirius to argue with Dumbledore? Sirius had been the one to suggest Peter, the traitor. Harry was better off with Dumbledore. And anyway, the best thing that he could do for his godson now was to avenge his parents. Peter would pay and Harry would grow up knowing that their traitorous friend had gotten what he deserved. Sirius would kill Peter and if he also could escape with his own life then he would convince Dumbledore to let him take Harry, and the boy would grow up sad but knowing that he had a family of James and Lily's true friends.

He would know that James and Lily had true friends who would do whatever it took to protect and care for them, even in death.


	2. Wormtail

Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter universe.

* * *

**_Wormtail_**

It was done. Peter's heart was beating. James' wasn't. Lily's wasn't. But Peter's was, and that was what made it worth it to him—it had to be worth it. He pushed down the guilt that bubbled up and reminded himself to focus on his still-beating heart.

He had chosen the right side. They had chosen the wrong one. They'd been too headstrong to see and react to the changing tides, but not Peter. Peter had reacted. Peter had lived. And that was what it was all about, after all. Survival.

And now it was done and the man he had pledged himself to was gone, too.

He had turned to the boys in school, but they'd moved on during the war, hardly remembering Peter, hardly thinking of him at all. Remus and Sirius had the Order, and James' had, too, but then he'd had a wife and a child and—they had all forgotten about him. The Death Eaters had paid him plenty of attention, had praised his particular position as useful—_Peter, useful—_and now, he supposed, they would be gone, too.

Now who to turn to? Now who to look to?

A follower with no one to follow. He had gone to the house

Now who would protect him? A rat, skittering away into the shadows. Is that where he was to go? Where else? Is that where he deserved to live, now that he had sold his own friends' lives for his own?

But first thing was first. It was done, and Peter was alive, but he knew that people would come for him. Without Voldemort's protection, it was time for Peter to protect himself, above all, himself. He had to get to Godric's Hollow, had to get the Dark Lord's wand, with its incriminating spells.

Few knew that he had been the Secret Keeper. Sirius knew. Sirius would come, boiling with anger and betrayal and too much passion, enough passion to destroy himself. Sirius had never been as good at self-preservation as Peter. James, Remus, Sirius, Lily—they had always been able to put things before themselves—ideas, ideals, each other. Peter had looked up to them for it, but with a wand pointed at his chest and a killing curse on the lips of the Death Eater holding it, Peter had learned that he would never do that, could never do that. But Sirius would come, ready to destroy them both as long as it meant that Peter would pay.

And Peter would be ready, heart still beating, blood still rushing through his veins.


	3. Moony

Disclaimer: Nothing that you recognize is mine.

* * *

_**Moony**_

Life had not been kind to Remus until it had. Years of loneliness and self-hatred began to fade in his memory during school, when he had James and Peter and—

He had started to forget, started to acclimate to a new normal where, yes, he was still a werewolf, and yes, there was still a war going on, but he had support and he had worth and he had a purpose. He had a worth that no other Order member had—they couldn't walk among the werewolves as he did, uncomfortable and knowing that their present might have been his if not for his friends.

Friends who loved him, who sacrificed time and broke laws for him. Friends who forgave him when he made mistakes. Friends he forgave when they made mistakes. Maybe he shouldn't have.

"Stupid," he wailed to himself, rolled into a ball and rocking back and forth on his bed. The tears had stopped hours ago, replaced by a throbbing headache and a numbness that every once in awhile wasn't quite numb enough. "Stupid," he whispered again, staring straight ahead.

When he'd gotten the message, via a phoenix patronus and Dumbledore's smooth and slow voice, he hadn't believed it.

"No," he had said, over and over and over.

And then the owls started.

People everywhere celebrating.

The pain was over, the war was over!

Everything—everything—should be over, Remus thought.

James dead. Lily dead. Voldemort dead, yes, but not at this price, Remus thought. Not at the price of James. Not at the price of Lily. And Harry, oh, Remus couldn't think of Harry. Where would he go now?

Not to Sirius.

No. Not him.

He wondered how he could have missed it. Because Sirius had been raised a certain way, sure, but this was about _James_. Remus often had been jealous of their friendship in school. They had been brothers, truly. Asked a day ago if Sirius would die for James, Remus wouldn't have hesitated to say yes. Hell, asked a day ago if Sirius would die for Lily, or Harry, or Remus himself, or any member of the Order, he wouldn't have hesitated to say yes.

_Blinded,_ Remus thought to himself. _Sentimental. _

And now Peter, dead, too. Remus had readied himself for this more; Peter was decently talented and always dragged to a higher level by James and Remus and… But he was on the front lines in a way that James and Lily weren't. They were supposed to have been protected. Safe, hidden away, protected by love and trust and a person who they knew with every fiber of their beings would protect their family or die trying.

But it had been they who died.

Remus felt unendurably stupid, for thinking that they would be safe in the middle of a war with a prophecy-obsessed maniac breathing down their necks. Stupid for trusting Sirius, whose callousness for feelings and for life threatening situations was well-documented, Remus knew, because he'd almost made him kill someone, years ago. Stupid for thinking for a second that the Marauders were truly untouchable. Stupid for loving any of them at all.

"I believed that life would be fair," he whispered to himself, eyes still open, red and swollen from crying and dry from staring straight ahead, straight ahead, straight ahead. "I knew it wasn't. But I let myself believe that it would be."


End file.
